Second Chance
by The Wicked Yveltal
Summary: When death claims a ThunderClan apprentice too young, StarClan takes pity on her and allows her to be reborn. However, her new life is filled with suffering- and altogether isn't as good as it's supposed to be. Will she choose to live her new life like the hero she was before, or will she become twisted by her hardships into someone different? (Challenge for The Clan of Clouds)
1. Chapter 1: A Hero's Sacrifice

**Author's Note: I saw this challenge on The Clan of Clouds Forum and promptly realized it would make an excellent multi-chapter story. So, yeah, here it is: Chapter One. Hope you like it! :)**

**Disclaimer: I believe this Challenge belongs to Forerunner of Ancient Storms, if I remember correctly. In any case, it isn't mine. I don't own Warriors either.**

**Read, review and enjoy! :)**

It was a warm sunny morning in ThunderClan's camp and all the warriors and apprentices were lounging in the sun. Its golden rays brought out the beautiful colors in their fur and eyes as well as the forest itself around them. It was one of those days when it seemed that all was perfect, from the cloudless blue sky to the warm scents of plentiful fresh-kill rising from the center of the clearing.

Of course, it is on those days that things can go horribly wrong.

Several apprentices were scuffling on the ground, away from where the warriors drowsed in the sun's warmth. One, a brown tom with gentle amber eyes, observed the flashing of claws and teeth in the whirl of black and white fur in front of him. The wrestling apprentices moved with the darting quickness of snakes, showing their best moves and their wild instincts to their medicine cat friend, who in turn watched with amusement.

"Beat you!" declared the black tabby, pinning the white tom beneath her paws. Her claws glistened, unsheathed, but only small nicks and scratches betrayed the fact that she had used them on her friend. Her bright blue eyes glowed with laughter. This was a mock battle between fellow apprentices, and she had won.

"Did you see that?" she asked triumphantly, turning to the brown tom. She flicked her striped tail towards her opponent, who scrambled to his paws and quickly licked his fur, obviously a bit embarrassed to have lost. "He would have been crow-food in two seconds if he were a ShadowClan warrior!"

"Oh, I'm sure," meowed the brown tom teasingly, eyes shining with amusement. "You were absolutely terrifying, Nightpaw."

The black tabby looked pleased, puffing out her chest proudly.

"He's teasing you," pointed out the white tom, pausing from his grooming. Nightpaw obviously hadn't noticed; he felt the need to spare her dignity. At least that was what he told himself- in reality, he simply felt like getting back at her for his humiliating defeat in front of their friend, who had heard them each boast about their skills separately but had never seen them actually at combat. Both had exaggerated, but apparently Nightpaw's account of what would happen if they sparred had been more realistic.

"Nah, you're just jealous that I'm stronger," boasted Nightpaw. "Right, Thrushpaw?" She turned back to the brown tom to find his whiskers twitching with laughter. "Hey!" she compained. "You are making fun of me!" She pounced, landing squarely on top of him. The two apprentices tumbled around for a moment, with Thrushpaw struggling to free himself, but to no avail. He was no match against a warrior in training.

"Beat you too!" she meowed, leaping off of him and prancing off with head and tail lifted loftily. "I'm the best apprentice in ThunderClan. That means you and Sulkpaw over there," she flicked her tail at the white tom, who scowled at his name's mutilation, "have to change my bedding, bring me fresh-kill every day and comb the burrs out of my fur after every patrol—hunting and border!"

"Nobody promised you anything," meowed the white tom, his voice equally lofty. "In fact, I think the losers should get consolation prizes and you should get nothing!"

The two warrior apprentices squared off for another tussle. But suddenly, Nightpaw's ears pricked up and she stood up straight, alert.

"What's wrong—?" began the white tom, but Nightpaw shushed him hurriedly.

"Shut up, Whitepaw!" she hissed. Suddenly, the sound of barking reached their ears and Nightpaw's eyes went wide. "A DOG!" she exclaimed in alarm. "And it must be close by if we hear it from camp!" She whirled around. The sound of yowls of alarm soon followed. It sounded as if the dog had caught the hunting patrol off guard.

The warriors were on their feet now, all drowsiness forgotten. "We need a patrol," ordered Thistleflight, the deputy. "Right away! Everyone who thinks they're up to it, come with me. We need as many warriors as we can get."

"Nightpaw, wait!" yowled Thrushpaw, but the black tabby apprentice had already darted off. To his horror, she ran straight past the quickly gathering patrol and out of the camp, towards the direction of the dog's barking. "We have to hurry," he gasped, turning to Whitepaw, whose face was a mask of terror. Despite his obvious fear, the warrior apprentice nodded stoically and the two of them raced after their friend.

They found her not far from camp. The hunting patrol was bravely facing off with the dog, arching their backs and hissing, but the beast was enormous. Its jaws alone were big enough to close around the head of a full grown warrior and its thick, bristling gray fur looked as if it would be hard to scratch through. Both apprentices felt their hearts plummet; there was no way a few warriors could beat this dog.

Nightpaw raced forward fearlessly, hurdling in between the opposing forces of the battle that was about to ensue. She leaped and slashed her claws across the dog's nose, leaving bleeding scratches far deeper than the ones that scored Whitepaw's pelt. The massive creature let out a yelp of pain and swatted at her with a powerful forepaw. The apprentice dodged the blow nimbly and leaped again, this time raking her claws down its face.

The dog howled in outrage and swiped at her, and while its claws were thick and blunt, they weren't nearly as sharp as cats' claws. It sent Nightpaw flying backwards, scraped but not bleeding. The apprentice landed heavily on her side, clearly winded.

"We have to help!" gasped Whitepaw, moving to lunge forward.

"No!" meowed Thistleflight sternly, bundling him aside. "It's too dangerous! Let the warriors handle this and you go back to camp!" The powerful brown tabby was not only the Clan's deputy but Whitepaw's father. He wanted his son to stay safe.

"But, I-" protested Whitepaw. "I want to fight like a warrior," he finished.

"Maybe someday," promised Thistleflight, "but not today. This is not your battle." He turned, and ordering his patrol forward, bounded down the hill towards the fight.

Nightpaw had scrambled to her feet and lunged at the dog for a third time. This time she jumped onto its back, sinking her sharp claws into its shoulders. It roared in pain and agony and tried to shake her off, with no success. The black tabby clung on, baring her teeth and giving the dog a vicious bite on the back of the neck.

The patrol arrived to help, but the dog's flailing paws kept them back. Thistleflight meowed something to his warriors, which Whitepaw and Thrushpaw couldn't hear from the distance. The brown tabby shook out his fur and leapt bravely over the dog's legs and landed on its face, sinking in his claws. The dog howled and reared up on its hind legs, finally succeeding in knocking off the two cats.

Thitsleflight lunged to grab Nightpaw's scruff in his jaws and drag her to safety, but he wasn't quick enough. The dog whirled on the apprentice and bit her, seizing her in its jaws. It picked her up and shook her, tossing her aside. She was thrown into the side of a tree and crumpled at the base of it in a heap. She did not move.

"No!" screamed Whitepaw, but the deed had been done.

The patrol, infuriated by this, joined into the battle. A few more well-placed blows and yowls of rage sent the dog fleeing back to wherever it had come from. Thistleflight padded stiffly over to where Nightpaw lay lifeless. Whitepaw and Thrushpaw bounded down the hill to join him, swallowing back their fear. It couldn't be…

Thistleflight nudged Nightpaw gently with his front paw. "Wake up, little one," he murmured gently. "The battle is over now."

"Let me see her," Thrushpaw meowed. "I can tell if—" His voice cracked, and he swallowed. "If she's still alive."

The deputy stood back, allowing the medicine cat apprentice to approach his fallen friend. Thrushpaw crouched next to her, putting an ear to her chest. For a moment, both the brown apprentice and the black tabby were still; then Thrushpaw stood, his amber eyes glistening with unshed tears. He shook his head.

"No!" wailed Whitepaw. "She _can't_ be gone!"

"I'm sorry, my son," meowed Thistleflight, his voice heavy with grief. "She is with StarClan now; she died a brave and noble warrior."

"But she wasn't a warrior!" cried Whitepaw. "She was just an apprentice. She was my _friend_! She was too young to die."

"She is a warrior in the eyes of StarClan," meowed Thistleflight.

…

That evening, they held a ceremony for Nightpaw. All her clanmates gathered around her for her final night, grooming her gently and making her fur shine. Her eyes were closed; she could have been sleeping. Whitepaw knew she wasn't.

"May StarClan welcome her among them," meowed Blossomfur, the ThunderClan medicine cat. Her voice and eyes were solemn. "She was a wonderful member of our Clan, and we will miss her greatly. Sleep well, Nightpaw, in eternal rest." She lowered her muzzle to touch Nightpaw's pelt lightly.

"Sleep well, my friend," whispered Thrushpaw, touching her gently with is tail tip. His eyes glistened with grief and sorrow. "We will miss you…"

Whitepaw turned his eyes towards the heavens. In the distance, beautiful silver stars glittered brightly, the sky as dark as Nightpaw's pelt behind them.

_Take care of her StarClan, _he prayed silently. _Take care of her always._

…

Three cats of StarClan gathered around the grave of Nightpaw the next evening. As was tradition in the Clans, the elders had buried her at dawn. Now twilight had come again and the stars had returned to the sky. The three spirits had appeared from the mist; now they stood in a circle around Nightpaw's final resting place.

For a moment, everything was silent. At last, one of them spoke.

"Young Whitepaw was right," meowed a tortoiseshell she-cat with a white chest and paws. She swept her fluffy ginger tail forward and rested it lightly on the earth of Nightpaw's grave, as gently as if she was touching the apprentice's pelt. "She was too young to die. She had her entire life ahead of her."

"That may be true," sighed the silver tabby beside her. "But this was her destiny. And she died a hero, saving her clanmates."

"How can you say that?" demanded the tortoiseshell, her orange eyes glinting with anger as she whirled on the other she-cat. "This was the last of my kin! She may have died a hero, but she died all the same!"

"Peace, Gingertail," meowed their other companion, a powerful white tom with blue-gray eyes. He touched his tail tip gently to her shoulder in solace. "She has not yet come to us, but you will see her soon."

"My legacy will be forgotten," mourned Gingertail. "My kin gone from all the Clans." She lowered her eyes to hide her tears.

"Perhaps not," meowed the silver tabby. "Icehollow speaks true; Nightpaw has not yet joined us in the ranks of StarClan. And you did as well, when you said she has died too soon." She paused. "There is still time."

"What are you saying?" asked Gingertail, meeting her gaze.

The silver tabby held it steadily. "I am saying that it is not over for you and your kin. Nightpaw can still receive a second chance."

Icehollow nodded. "Indeed," he meowed, his voice deep and wise. "It is still possible for this young hero to be reborn. She will live another life as a loyal warrior to ThunderClan, without her old memories but with a chance to live as she would have if her days did not end here. We may take mercy on this young soul."

"Then do it," insisted Gingertail. "Let her live."

"There is a catch," meowed the silver tabby warningly. "She will have a great fate, it is true. But whether that will be for good or evil, we have yet to see. It is up to you to guide her through this second life. And you cannot tell her who she is," she added. "None of the living cats can know that she is Nightpaw."

Gingertail dipped her head respectfully. "I accept this responsibility, Calmheart. I swear that I will be Nightpaw's guardian in her new life."

Calmheart dipped her head in return. "Then may StarClan be with you both..."


	2. Chapter 2: Reborn

**Author's Note: Here's the second chapter. Thanks for the nice reviews you guys left; I really appreciate it and I'm glad you like this story! :) Read, review and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own warriors or the idea for this challenge.**

Only several days after Nightpaw's death, far more joyful news reached the Clan's ears; Softwillow's kits were to be born. The queen had been expecting for two months already and it was about time for her to have her kittens. There couldn't be a better time than now. Blossomfur took the opportunity to try to distract her apprentice from his grief with a lesson. She chased the kits' father out of the nursery so they could do their work in peace, then began to teach Thrushpaw how to help the young kittens be born.

"See, every she-cat's muscles react instinctively when it is time for the kits to be born," the medicine cat explained, stroking Softwillow's flank gently with her tail. "These movements will help push the kits out without harming them."

"It won't hurt them, but it'll be painful for me," hissed Softwillow, made somewhat cross by the pain. The silver tabby was usually as gentle tempered as a butterfly, but today she all but spat out the words.

"Yes, but that's normal for the she-cat to feel a bit of pain while giving birth," explained Blossomfur, not unkindly. "You're doing very well, Softwillow."

Softwillow made a pleased sound, obviously appeased.

"It shouldn't be long before the first one is born," Blossomfur assured her.

"What do we do when that happens?" asked Thrushpaw, feeling a bit anxious. This was the first time he was helping deliver kits; the last birth in the Clan had occurred soon after Thrushpaw's apprenticeship, before he had acquired the skills necessary for the process. He wanted to help but was afraid of messing up.

"Give the kit a good lick," meowed his mentor, seeming unconcerned by the note of nervousness in his voice. "That will get it breathing. Don't worry Thrushpaw, I'll help the first one so you can see how it's done. Which should be right about now."

The tortoiseshell she-cat's instincts seemed to be accurate; a moment later, Softwillow gave a yowl of pain and the first kit was born. Blossomfur gave the kit a few brisk strokes with her tongue and it let out a little gasp as it took its first breath. Thrushpaw watched in fascination. The kit was a tiny tom with a pelt nearly identical to his mother's.

"The first one's a tom," Blossomfur told Softwillow, sounding satisfied at the successful birth. "And he's perfectly healthy."

"Oh, good!" exclaimed the she-cat in reply, clearly relieved.

A moment later, she yowled again and the second kit arrived; a smoky gray-black tom that resembled his father. This time it was Thrushpaw's turn to help. He licked the kit and it let out a yowl. Anxious, he turned to Blossomfur.

"This one has strong lungs," she reassured him. "He's healthy."

The two medicine cats waited to see if that was all, but it seemed there was still one more kit to be born. Softwillow's muscles rippled as they prepared to push out the final kit. The queen yowled and the last kit emerged. Blossomfur nodded to Thrushpaw, who licked the kit until it gasped in a breath. He looked at it more closely to tell its mother if it was a tom or a she-cat—and froze.

It was a black tabby she-cat, identical to Nightpaw. Her eyes were closed, so he couldn't see their color, but in his heart he knew when they opened they would be a beautiful blue. The little kitten looked so much like his friend that it took his breath away.

"What's the matter?" asked Blossomfur.

"It's—she—," he stammered. "She looks just like Nightpaw," he finished softly.

Blossomfur looked at the tiny black kitten. "You're right," she agreed. "She does look just like Nightpaw." Her voice was gentle.

"Then that will be her name," meowed Softwillow kindly. "Nightkit. Nightpaw saved my mate when she took on that dog. It's only fitting that we honor her memory."

Thrushpaw gazed at the newly named Nightkit. He felt as if hope had returned to his world; there was something left to live for after all.

Blossomfur felt Softwillow's flank gently with her paw. "That's the last one," she meowed. "Three healthy kittens; you couldn't ask for more than that." She spoke with motherly warmth, despite the fact that she would never have kits of her own.

She turned away, towards the entrance of the nursery. "Alright, Duskfeather, you can come in now!" she yowled. "You have two sons and a daughter."

The gray-black tom entered the nursery and gazed lovingly at his mate and kits. "They're beautiful," he whispered, crouching beside Softwillow to get a closer look. His breath gently brushed the kits' fur as they nursed. "What will we name them?"

"This is Nightkit," she meowed, gently touching the she-cat with her tail.

Duskfeather nodded, recognizing the identical pelt.

"We can call the silver tabby Stripekit," he suggested. "For those bold black stripes."

"And the gray-black tom can be Ashkit," agreed Softwillow warmly. "They're all beautiful names for beautiful kits."

"This will help your milk come," meowed Blossomfur, nudging a few leaves towards the queen. "I'll be back pretty frequently to check on them, and make sure they stay healthy. If you need anything else, Thrushpaw and I will be in the medicine den."

Softwillow nodded, closing her eyes. Giving birth must have been exhausting, even though there had been no difficulties.

Thrushpaw and Blossomfur exited the nursery and walked side by side across the sunlit clearing towards their den. The tortoiseshell she-cat rested her tail gently on her apprentice's shoulders in a wordless expression of understanding. She could tell that seeing Nightkit had been both a joyful and sorrowful experience so soon after he lost his friend. There were no words, nor herbs that could heal a broken heart.

…

Whitepaw was surprised to find Thrushpaw waiting for him when the warrior apprentice returned from a hunting patrol. Usually his friend was busy with medicine cat duties or calmly waiting for him in the medicine den if he wanted to talk.

"What is—?" he began, but the brown-furred apprentice merely said, "Come with me, I want to show you something," and turned towards the dens. Bewildered, Whitepaw followed him into the nursery, wondering why his friend was acting so strange.

"Look," Thrushpaw breathed, nudging Whitepaw towards Softwillow, who was sleeping with her kits curled beside her belly. Whitepaw was about to congratulate Thrushpaw on helping deliver the kits when he realized what the medicine cat apprentice was actually pointing out to him; the small black tabby.

Whitepaw sucked in a breath sharply. The kitten bore an uncanny resemblance to Nightpaw, from little black nose to striped tail-tip. Had he not known better and remembered Nightpaw being much bigger than the little cat before him, he would have thought it was his friend sleeping with the other kits.

"Her name is Nightkit," meowed Thrushpaw. Whitepaw turned to look at his friend and saw the happiness in his amber eyes.

Wordlessly, he touched his tail-tip to the medicine cat apprentice's shoulder.

The two friends remained there for a moment, gazing together at the slumbering kit. For a moment they could imagine that all three friends were together again in the apprentice den, as close as littermates.

"Do you think she'll be like Nightpaw?" Whitepaw asked, breaking the silence.

"I don't know," replied Thrushpaw, his tail flicking slightly in unease. "But we have to remember, no matter how much she looks like our friend, no matter how much she reminds us of our friend, this kit is not Nightpaw. She is her own cat and we must treat her as such." He paused, and then added, "But we can still watch over her."

Whitepaw nodded in agreement, recognizing the truth of his friend's words. "Then we will watch over her," he meowed. "We will make sure she does not meet the same fate as Nightpaw. She will live to be a warrior."

…

As they left the nursery, they were replaced by the invisible spirit of a she-cat. Had anyone seen her, they would have made out the patterns of beautiful tortoiseshell fur and a fluffy ginger tail. The spirit padded soundlessly to the queen's side. As if she had heard the paw-steps of the approaching spirit, Nightkit blinked open her eyes for the first time. They shone a beautiful blue in the dim light of the nursery.

She looked directly at Gingertail, silently studying the newcomer.

_Sleep, little one_, Gingertail meowed gently. _I am here to guard you_.

The black tabby yawned, revealing a bright pink tongue and closed her eyes, putting her faith in her guardian spirit.

From the shadows, two other spirits watched. These cats were not Calmheart and Icehallow, but more sinister ghosts whose eyes glinted in the darkness. One was a thickly muscled tom with a black tabby pelt; the other was a silver and white tabby with a slit in her right ear. They both observed the scene through narrowed eyes.

"How sweet," purred the tom. "The little one has been reborn and this noble StarClan warrior has volunteered to be her guardian."

"Bah," hissed the she-cat, lashing her tail. "If you like that sort of thing. I have no doubt my sister was behind this. She's always been soft hearted when it comes to kits."

"If it truly was Calmheart's idea, then she was foolish to appoint _this_ she-cat as the kit's guardian," responded the black tabby.

"Well, she is the little one's kin," meowed the she-cat.

"So am I," replied the tom. "Have they forgotten the name of Darkwhisper so easily? Surely those StarClan fools realize that Gingertail is not a cat that could stop me from getting my claws on the little runt."

"Especially if you had my help," hissed the silver and white tabby.

"I agree," meowed Darkwhisper smoothly.

"Shall we give them a little reminder?" She flexed her claws.

Darkwhisper swept his tail out to block her from moving towards the sleeping kitten. "Patience, Silvermask," he meowed. "There are worse forms of revenge than killing the little one. I personally like few things more than bringing fallen heroes to the dark side."

Silvermask's eyes glinted like shards of ice. "Ah," she replied slyly. "You always did have the best of plans." She flicked his shoulder with her tail.

"Sleep peacefully while you can, Nightkit," meowed Darkwhisper from his place in the shadows. "Your life won't be peaceful for long…"


	3. Chapter 3: Nightkit and Whitethorn

**Author's Note: I know this chapter ended up being a little short, but I tried to add more detail into it. Hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Warriors.**

**Read, review and enjoy! :)**

The stars glittered beautifully in the darkness of the night sky. Frost and the cold breath of cats on the air shimmered in agreement with the warriors' ancestors, complimenting them with slighter radiance. ThunderClan gathered beneath the light of a pure white half moon, their multicolored eyes reflecting the stars as they looked up at their leader. Poppystar stood upon the Highrock, silhouetted against the stark black night. Her brilliant green gaze fell on a pale white tom standing at the center of the clearing.

"Whitepaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code, even at the cost of your life?" she meowed evenly, her words ringing out clearly through the camp and reverberating off the ravine's stone walls.

"I do," replied Whitepaw, with upmost confidence. This was his moment.

"Then by the power of StarClan, I name you Whitethorn," meowed Poppystar. "Despite all the hardships you have gone through in your life, you have stayed true to the warrior code and faithful to our ancestors. None of us could ask for any more from our cats. We are proud to welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan."

"Whitethorn! Whitethorn!" yowled the clan, greeting their new warrior with cheers and purrs of congratulations.

Nearly two moons had passed since Nightpaw's death and Whitepaw had proved himself worthy of his warrior name. Now he had received it, and he stood in the center of the camp, listening to the clan's cheering with a bittersweet feeling in his heart. He had finally become a warrior, something he had looked forward to with excitement from his very first day of apprenticeship. But he had always pictured Nightpaw at his side.

Poppystar leapt down from Highrock, landing nimbly beside the newly named Whitethorn. "Nightpaw should have been made a warrior with you," the reddish-brown she-cat mewed in understanding, touching her tail-tip lightly to his shoulder. "But I'm sure she's looking down from her place in StarClan and feeling proud of you." Her green eyes shone with sympathy and kindness as she gazed at the young warrior.

"Thank you, Poppystar," Whitethorn meowed, bowing his head respectfully to his leader. She nodded in return and padded away towards her den.

A brown shape bounded towards him the moment the ceremony was over, amber eyes shining with excitement. "Congratulations, Whitethorn," purred Thrushpaw, weaving around his friend and brushing against him. "I know how much you were looking forward to earning your warrior name. You really deserve it!"

"Thanks," the white tom purred back.

The next cat to come forward was Thistleflight. "Congratulations," the light brown tabby meowed, looking at Whitethorn with pride. He licked the young tom's forehead with affection. "I couldn't be more proud of you, my son. I know your mother would have been proud of you if she were here, and your friend as well."

"Thank you," meowed Whitethorn, his eyes shining. His mother, Palestorm, had joined StarClan when he was just a kit. He remembered her only faintly, but had loved her dearly. The idea of her and Nightpaw watching over him filled him with warmth.

The deputy nodded and turned away, walking towards some of the senior warriors to choose cats for a dawn patrol before they went to sleep. Various other cats came up to Whitethorn to congratulate him, before heading off to their dens for the night. Thrushpaw and Whitethorn talked for a moment longer, until they heard Blossomfur calling her apprentice back to the medicine den.

"Good luck on your vigil," meowed Thrushpaw, touching his nose briefly to Whitethorn's in friendship before bounding towards his mentor.

"Thanks!" Whitethorn called after him. _I'll probably need it!_

"No fair!" Whitethorn heard Nightkit complain from beside the nursery. She and her littermates had witnessed the ceremony with expressions of awe and excitement- something Whitethorn had to admit made him a little too proud of himself. Now the little tabby bounced to her paws with Stripekit and Ashkit close behind her. "I want to be a warrior too!"

"You'll have your turn eventually," purred Softwillow fondly.

"But you're not even six moons yet," Duskfeather reminded them teasingly. "You can't become a warrior until you've trained as an apprentice!"

Nightkit pondered this for a moment, before shaking out her pelt. "I'll go ask him how it feels to be a warrior," she decided, in a matter-of-fact voice. "It must be so exciting!" She bounded off towards where Whitethorn was settling down to guard the camp, only to be blocked by her mother's silver-striped tail.

"Not right now, you won't" Softwillow chided. "He must sit vigil first, according to tradition. And he has to be quiet; he can't talk until his vigil's over."

"Not at all?" Nightkit asked, fixing her mother with large blue eyes. "Not to _anyone_?" Whitethorn purred with amusement at her astonishment.

"Not a peep out of him," confirmed the silver tabby. "Like kits are supposed to be when it's time for them to sleep," she added meaningfully, fixing her kits with a pretend stern gaze. Squealing with laughter, they hid behind their father's legs.

"Alright, it's time for you to get some rest," meowed Duskfeather, his voice good-humored. "And be good for your mother."

"Yes, Duskfeather," the kits chorused. Purring, the gray-black tom gave each of them a lick on the forehead before they scampered of back to the nursery with their mother. Behind his back, Nightkit aimed a playful swipe at Stripekit, who dodged it and swatted dust back at his littermate. Then the kits vanished into the den.

Whitethorn watched them wistfully from where he had begun his vigil. He remembered playing like that with Thrushpaw and Nightpaw. Although the three weren't littermates, they had always been close in age and friendship. He felt a pang of nostalgia for the time when all three of them were inseparable. Now he was a warrior, Thrushpaw was a medicine cat, and Nightpaw was part of StarClan, walking a path Whitethorn couldn't see.

He sat in silence, remembering past times and gazing up at the stars. They twinkled like frost, cold and bright in the distant sky. One star in particular glowed brightly tonight; he wondered if it was Palestorm shining for her son- or perhaps Nightpaw?

It had been long enough since her death that Whitethorn did not remember her with grief but with fond memories. Of course he missed her— he always would—,but he had accepted that she was gone now. He pictured her beautiful black-striped pelt and bright blue eyes, as clearly as if he had seen her yesterday. He would see her again in StarClan when it was his time to join them…

Suddenly, Whitethorn felt claws sink into his tail. Whirling in fright and parting his jaws to call an alarm, Whitethorn felt his mind flash through different possible scenarios. Was it a fox- a _badger_? Almost as quickly as his panic had begun, it eased; his attacker was Nightkit, her tiny claws embedded in his fluffy white tail. He swung it around into view, sending the kit tumbling off onto the ground in front of him.

"Watch it," he meowed gruffly. "I almost made crow-food out of you."

Nightkit straitened up, shaking the dust off her ears and fixing him with wide, blue eyes. "You aren't supposed to talk at all, are you?" she asked. "Softwillow said you weren't supposed to talk to _anyone_."

Whitethorn curled his tail neatly around his paws now that it was kit-free, averting the possibility that the other kits would soon be pouncing on it. "I'm not supposed to chat with anyone, no," he replied. "But if I hear anyone, I'm supposed ask who they are and what their business is." He narrowed his eyes. "Including you."

"I wanted to know how it felt to be a _warrior_," she breathed, as if he had become clan leader, not simply finished his training. He suppressed a purr of amusement at her apparent hero-worship. Kits were endearing when they weren't shredding his fur.

"Well, it's cold so far," he answered her, flexing his shoulder muscles, which were indeed become stiff with the chill of the night air. "But that's what your fur is for; to keep you warm. I'm lucky that mine is so thick."

"Is that a warrior thing?" Nightkit asked, sounding awed. "Did you always have thick fur? Am I going to have thick fur when I become a warrior?"

"Maybe," he meowed, suppressing a _mrrow_ of laughter.

"I bet my fur will be _twice _as thick as yours!" she mewed enthusiastically.

"Well, if you want to have a thick pelt," he told her, "you always have to do what you're told and change the elders' bedding. Only good kittens get thick pelts."

"Really?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"That's right," he mewed, barely able to keep a straight face. He felt his whiskers begin to twitch in amusement, giving him away.

"Hey!" Nightkit squealed indignantly, realizing she'd been tricked. She battered his tail with harmless little paws. "You're lying to me! You just want me to change the elder's bedding _all the time_! But you don't fool me! I'm not going to change their bedding ever!"

"You're going to have to," Whitethorn informed her. "Your mentor won't let you get away with not doing your fair share of apprentice chores."

Nightkit tilted her head to the side, looking thoughtful. "I hope you're my mentor," she announced, sounding pleased with herself for coming up with the idea. "You're fun."

"Really?" Whitethorn blinked in surprise. He hadn't realized that the kit liked him so much; in fact, he'd expected her to be mad about being tricked. But he realized that he was becoming fond of Nightkit too.

"Yup!" She pounced on his tail again and rolled over, snagging it with all four paws. "You'd be the best mentor ever!" She peered around his tail, big blue eyes sparkling.

"Good to hear," he meowed, gently removing his tail from her claws.

Nightkit jumped to her paws again, weaving around him. "We should play moss toss," she mewed excitedly, turning towards the nursery. "I'll go get the moss ball!"

"Wait," instructed Whitethorn. "I'm not supposed to be talking to you at all, remember, much less playing a game of moss toss in the middle of the night. I need to sit vigil right now."

"Oh yeah," she said, halting as she remembered. The white warrior couldn't see her expression since she was facing away, but he saw her shoulder slump in disappointment. She turned back around a moment later, her ears perking up again hopefully. "Well, tomorrow we can play," she meowed, flicking her tail.

"Yes, there's always tomorrow," Whitethorn agreed.

Nightkit headed back to her den. "'Night, Whitethorn!" she called over her shoulder. "Enjoy your vigil!" Her eyes gleamed with mischief.

As the black tabby bounded away towards the nursery, Whitethorn watched with amusement and fondness. Maybe it was just coincidence, but Nightkit seemed a whole lot like Nightpaw.


	4. Chapter 4: Nightkit and Thrushpaw

**Author's Note: Sorry about the gap between updates; I went on vacation for two weeks in the middle of July and I've been pushing it off ever since. Don't worry, though, I'll try to make updates a little more frequent if I can. **

**In the meantime, read, review and enjoy! ;)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Warriors or any of its concepts. **

It wasn't long before Thrushpaw had his own encounter with the adventurous Nightkit.

The medicine cat apprentice was carefully sorting herbs for Blossomfur, when he heard a shuffling noise from the entrance of the den. Expecting to see that his mentor had returned, Thrushpaw glanced up and instead found himself face to face with a pair of enormous blue eyes that could only belong to one kit.

Amused, Thrushpaw peered around the stack of herbs he had compiled to see Nightkit staring up at him. "What's up?"

"Thrushpaw?" the little black tabby said hesitantly, but completely seriously. She looked a little nervous, as if she wasn't sure what answer she wanted to hear when she voiced her concern. "I think I'm becoming a medicine cat."

"Oh?" Thrushpaw was a bit surprised. He was already apprenticed to Blossomfur, and there were never more than two medicine cats in a Clan at the same time. Their den would get awfully crowded. However, something kept him from saying this to the kit. Flicking his tail in a gesture to continue, he asked, "Why is that?"

"I had a dream," she replied. She looked up at him, her big eyes round and solemn. "I was about to catch a mouse, and then it ran away." She lowered her head in shame. "I think it means I'm not meant to be a warrior."

Thrushpaw had to make a conscious effort to keep his whiskers from twitching. The innocent, super-serious way the kit was looking at him was just too cute!

He knew that she would be hurt if he started laughing, however, so he lowered his face to her level, crouching to meet her gaze. "You know what?" he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly. "I'm going to tell you a secret, so listen closely."

Nightkit nodded, and looked at him hopefully. Her face was the perfect image of kit innocence. The dark fur of her face was still kitten-soft and fluffed outward, her blue eyes round and anticipating. Her silvery whiskers twitched, not with amusement, but with the inability to remain unmoving, because a kit had too much energy and enthusiasm to sit completely still, even with her attention focused on one thing.

"You know, we all have dreams," Thrushpaw began. "Warriors and medicine cats alike. Sometimes these dreams are normal, like chasing a mouse. Sometimes…" He tipped his head to the side, entertained by the way her gaze followed him, completely enthralled. "They're weird, like, I don't know… flying cats!"

"That _is_ weird!" she replied, squealing with laughter.

"And sometimes, we have prophetic dreams," continued Thrushpaw.

"Prathetic?" Nightkit went even more wide-eyed than before, amazed at this totally new word. "What's pratheitc?"

Thrushpaw couldn't help but laugh. "Not 'pratheitc'," he explained. "Pro-phe-tic. It means 'future-telling'. Like prophecies. Usually, a StarClan cat visits us in a dream and gives us a warning. Or sometimes, they send us a vision, a sort of glimpse of the future that we have to work out ourselves. StarClan can be mysterious like that sometimes. It seems sort of frustrating, since they could just come and tell us, but I've learned from Blossomfur that figuring things out the long way can teach us valuable lessons."

"Like the mouse dream," said Nightkit, seeming disappointed. "So I'm not meant to be a warrior…" Her tail and ears drooped dejectedly.

"Not at all," said Thrushpaw. "On the contrary—oppositely—," he added as an explanation, remembering that she probably wouldn't understand such a large word, "I think it means that you will be a warrior. Star Clan's trying to show you that even if it's hard sometimes, being a warrior, you can't let yourself be discouraged. You can't give up." _If it's not just an ordinary dream, _he thought, suspecting that it was, but not wanting to ruin the kit's fun by telling her so.

Nightkit's eyes widened hopefully. "So I am gonna be a warrior?"

"That's right," mewed Thrushpaw, enjoying her look of delight and wonder. "And you'll be one of the best warriors we've ever had," he added, reaching out with a paw to ruffle her ears playfully. "I'm sure of it."

Nightkit looked thrilled. "Wait till Stripekit and Ashkit hear about this!" she boasted. "Star Clan told me I'll be a great warrior!" With that, she scampered off to share her news.

Thrushpaw watched her go, hugely entertained by the whole encounter. _Nightpaw would have killed me if I played that trick on her_, he thought, remembering his friend fondly. He still missed her of course, but now that several moons had passed since her death, the pain of losing her had faded, replaced by a wistful affection at every thought of her. _Not that she would have bought it anyway. She would have boxed my ears for making things up!_

_But Nightkit isn't Nightpaw, no matter how much she looks like her namesake, _the medicine cat apprentice reminded himself, as he went back to his task of sorting herbs. Still, he couldn't help but take an interest in the adventurous little kit. He swiveled his ears towards the entrance of the medicine den, listening as Nightkit excitedly told her littermates about the encounter, true to kit standard, exaggerating half of it.

"I was telling Thrushpaw about my dream, about trying to catch a mouse," she informed them. He could just imagine he sitting importantly with her tail curled neatly around her paws, making the others sit still in front of her as she told her story. "I thought for sure it meant that StarClan was saying I couldn't be a warrior, and that I had to be a medicine cat instead. But Thrushpaw said it means if I work hard, I'm gonna be the best warrior there ever was, and all the cats in the future Clans are gonna remember me as Nightfang the great huntress!"

"No way!" protested Stripekit, not buying it. "I'm gonna be the best hunter there ever was! Stripefang the great hunter!"

"You can't!" meowed Nightkit. "I already had the dream, remember?"

"Besides, Stripefang is a _terrible_ name!" chimed in Ashkit, seeming unable to resist teasing his brother. There was a scuffing noise and a squeal, as if Stripekit had pounced on Ashkit and they were now wrestling on the ground.

"I'm gonna win so easily, I'll be made an apprentice early!"

"No, I'll win, and I'll be made an instant warrior for my skills!"

Thrushpaw let out a _mrrow_ of laughter at the kittens' antics. As much as their playfulness entertained him, he didn't envy whoever received the task of mentoring these bundles of energy. Whoever did would have a lot of work ahead of them…


End file.
